


You + Me

by nobetterlove



Series: Yours, Me. [3]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Thirteen Reasons Why - Jay Asher
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Schmoop, romantic, tony is just so damn cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 02:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobetterlove/pseuds/nobetterlove
Summary: Clay finds notes Tony wrote as replies to his own but never gave him.





	You + Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last little piece of the series. I'm thinking about doing some one shots from the universe because college Clony and their own apartment... yeah, anyway. I hope you guys enjoy the way this one wraps up. If you've got any prompts you might like to see since this one is over with, just let me know! As always, thanks for the read.

Clay looked around their shared apartment, boxes and paper were everywhere, covering all the surfaces that held their stuff for the passed couple of years. They were finally moving into an actual house—a place where they’d have space to expand a little bit. During life together, they’d acquired way too much shit. College brought an art career to Clay and with it, endless amounts of supplies and canvas, some of which was still scattered around the place, in open boxes, or still on the floor waiting to be packed. An entire room waited for them in their new place, a room that held all his art supplies, a room where he could work in peace. The walls in the apartment they’d been sharing were so thin, Clay found it hard to get any work done when the neighbors were around. A new place also brought a garage for Tony where his boyfriend could work on cars for his father, or the Mustang that still ran like a dream. Adulting sucked. Clay picked up on this the first time they couldn’t make the money to pay rent, but it had its advantages. After struggling for a long time, the two were finally settled, able to put a little bit more into their life than before.

Moving down the hall to their bedroom, Tony collided with him near the end of it, a few boxes in his hand. Their eyes met, blue and brown coming together in a well rehearsed tango. Clay watched everything about Tony soften, even his eyes melting little by little. “Sorry, babe,” Clay started, rubbing a hand down the muscled arm, clenched tight because of the stuff in his hand. “I was off in Dreamland,” he finished, shrugging his shoulders knowing how used to him saying that Tony was. Tony bumped his shoulder against Clay, his lips shaping a soft smile. “It’s all good, baby. Let me put these last couple boxes from our room in the truck, then we can get some dinner, or something,” Tony replied, his eyes still soft, the melty brown color something Clay still wanted to dive into after the years of being together. The taller guy nodded in reply, taking a couple steps forward, Clay gave his boyfriend more room to finish moving down the hall, heavy boxes still in tow.

Walking into their bedroom, Clay took a second to take it all in. The place was empty, even their bed gone and packed onto the truck. There were a few small boxes of what he assumed to be junk in the closet, so he moved in that direction. Passing by each of the walls, he could clearly see the band posters he’d gotten framed for Tony, and the pieces of canvas his bunnies were painted all over. They’d been so proud of each other and their interests. A little piece of the wall was slightly discolored from where each of the posters hung. His heart beat a little faster, looking at the evidence of their time together, and the inevitable end of this piece of their life. Forcing himself to move on and not dwell, Clay finished the distance to the closet, kneeling down to go through each of the boxes—just to make sure.

Grabbing the first one, Clay only had to take the lid off to know it could go in the trash. For some silly reason, he’d kept the receipts for each one of their dates during the first year of their relationship. Digging into it, he found way too many for Monet’s and Tony’s favorite Mexican place just outside of town. When they were still living with their parents, the two tried to spend as much time away from their homes as possible. All that mattered was being together. Not much had changed there. He moved it behind him, pushing it towards the bag of garbage for the room leaning against the opposite wall. Though he put it there now, Clay figured he’d have a hard time throwing something like that away. Little things from the life they were building together always meant the most. He still carried a ream of photo booth pictures in his wallet from his first year of college. They had years and years worth of pictures, yet something about those specifically made them so so hard to replace.

Long fingers reached for the next box, this one most definitely not his. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever purchased a pair of Doc Martins. Lifting the lid off, his entire stomach dropped. Clay didn’t need to open any of the letters to know which ones they were. He could see the stain of the black pen he used specifically to write these. The letters started off as a way to tell Tony all the things he couldn’t—at least, not in person. During that time in his life, Clay was still recovering from everything Hannah Baker. He wanted to talk, but couldn’t find a way to do it face to face, so one night, he merely sat down and put pen to paper all the things he wanted to say, but couldn’t. From that point on, the letters were little things Clay knew Tony loved receiving. Some were love letters, some were letters describing what he had for breakfast that morning, and some were just Clay talking about Hannah or the anxiety he still faced every now and again. Anything he could think to write, Clay let come out on the sheets of paper. Their relationship developed so well outside of the little pieces of paper, but the two learned true intimacy through the words shared. Tony wouldn’t know half the stuff about Clay that he did if it weren’t for his high writing sessions. To this day, Clay liked to get stoned off his ass and write in a journal.

He quickly unfolded one, dumbfounded to see handwriting other than his own. Blue eyes searched the paper and immediately bulged when he recognized who it belonged to. His eyes quickly flitted to the date in the corner of the paper, Clay gasping when he saw it for a few years earlier. Had Tony been writing him back all of this time and simply not giving him the letters? Shaking his head, Clay couldn’t help but let a full fledged smile slip across his cheeks. Tony wasn’t much for sentiment—not in the way most people were, at least. After being together for almost ten years now, Tony still didn’t like to show that much PDA. They eventually graduated to holding hands in public, but that was a far as Clay pushed him. Knowing there were responses to his letters made his heart flop; he forgot what it was like to learn new things about his boyfriend.

Sucking in a breath, Clay unfolded his legs to lean against the wall. He felt his heart beat fast and forced himself to relax as he started to read the letter in his hand.

\---

Clay Jensen,

I’m not nearly as good of a writer as you, and I’m probably not nearly as stoned up as I need to be to be doing something like this—but here I am. I’ve read each of your letters so many times that I thought maybe you might like to get one from me every now and again. Share in the feeling. You’ve told me a few times how stone wall I can be about the way that I feel, so maybe writing about it will be a little bit easier.

Let me tell you, though, up until right this second, I’ve felt about as nervous as I always do when it comes to telling you things.

I know you know what it feels like to have your breath taken away. You’ve told me about it enough. I just—every time I think about you, not only does my breath leave me, but every rational thought does, too. It’s so hard to explain so openly the way I feel about you because you’re in my soul, so deeply engrained in there that I’m almost afraid to let out some of it—afraid to let the feelings be known. What happens if you don’t feel the same way? How do I ever put the pieces of my soul back together knowing that? I’m trying. I know you’re happy that you keep getting more and more out of me. By the time we’re old and gray, I’ll be able to easily tell you exactly what I’m thinking and feeling. I just hope you’re wanting to stick around that long. 

Do you know, though, how crazy I am about you? How my mouth runs dry and my every inch seems to tingle? I wish I could write a thousand sonnets to tell you, but I’m hoping just a couple words work just as well.

I love you, Clay.

Eternally.

Always.

It’s not a sonnet, but I mean every single word.

Oh, and ps—if you’re going to make bunnies look like me, at least get the hair right!

Yours,

Me.

\---

Clay looked up from the paper, reaching up to run his hand through surprisingly damp hair. He couldn’t remember when he started to sweat, or why tears were dripping from his eyes. He couldn’t recall anything but the words he’d just read on the page. Hugging the paper to his chest, Clay squeezed his eyes shut. There wasn’t ever a single doubt in Clay’s mind about the depth of Tony’s feelings. What his boyfriend wrote was true, though. So many times he’d given the guy grief about being so closed lip. Despite knowing that was just him as a person. Clay shook his head, a newfound love for Tony welling inside him—the feeling surprising; Clay didn’t know he could love Tony Padilla anymore than he'd done years over years.

A shout of his name echoing down the hall had him folding the piece of paper back into the square it’d been in, and putting the top back on the box. He kicked the other one away, but kept the box of letters tight under his arm. Now that he found this, the treasure of shared perspectives on their life, Clay wasn’t willing to part with it quite yet. By the time Clay got some oxygen back into his lungs, Tony was standing in the doorway, looking at him curiously. “You alright, Corazon?” Tony asked, concern written all over his face. A ‘reserved for Tony only’ smile slipped across his lips, coming hand in hand with a red tint to his cheeks. He took the couple of strides that separated them quickly, finding himself in front of Tony before either of them knew it. “Perfect, Tony. Let’s get out of here, huh? My mom and dad said they’d come help with the rest of the little stuff tomorrow.” Clay finished speaking by leaning forward, pressing his lips against Tony’s in a comfortable, affection filled kiss. Tony pulled back first, concern and question still in his eye—yet, Clay knew he’d let it go, merely because Clay wanted him to. “Sounds good. It’s time for food, anyway.”

\---

Another couple hours later found Clay in the front room of their new house. This one’s walls were bare, too, though they held the great possibility of potential. Since they bought the house, Clay’d been trying to figure out where he wanted everything to go. There was so much more space that a plan of attack was absolutely necessary to get everything the way he wanted it. There was time for that, though. They both took several weeks off of in the office work to get through the moving process. Clay knew that Tony would do it all himself if he didn’t force his own helping hand. Taking time away from the studio was the only way to ensure his boyfriend didn’t work himself to death.

Their dinner was nice, Tony picking up cooking skills from his mom, made the best creations. Clay could still remember the surprise he felt when Tony presented him with a home cooked meal one of their first nights alone together in their old apartment. They had nothing in the way of pots and pans, but chicken alfredo had never tasted better—plastic fork and all. Since then, Tony did most of the cooking. Clay, unlike his mother, couldn’t cook a single thing. He managed to burn toast more often times than not. When they were done eating, Clay forced himself to stay calm and not attack the box. He didn’t want Tony to know that he had it, or know how finding the box affected him. 

Tony finally announced he was going to change into his garage clothes, giving Clay the opportunity to go through more of the box whenever Tony made his way out to the garage to work—probably on the Mustang like he did most nights. Clay heard water running and fumbling around for a few minutes, then the sound of Tony’s boots coming down the hall. He perked up, always excited to see the ratty jeans hanging off his boyfriend’s hips, and the USC sweater Clay got him during his visit there so fucking long ago. Tony stopped in front of him, letting Clay absorb as much of his outfit as he could. No matter how many times he wore it, Clay would never stop loving the way it made him feel—excited, turned on, and comforted by the Tony he’d always been in love with, by the things that hadn't changed. His boyfriend smiled, a genuine thing that only Clay got to see. Clay returned it, gesturing for Tony to finish off the distance between them. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling their bodies together snuggly. “Your reaction to this is one of the main reasons I wear it, I hope you know,” Tony mumbled, the guy having ducked his face into the crease of Clay’s neck. The taller guy chuckled at the tickly feeling of the words against his neck, and what Tony said. Of fucking course, Clay thought. Tony lived to tease him, even with his thrown together work outfits.

They kissed then, both leaning in to let their lips join in a well practiced dance. Clay wouldn’t ever get over the plumpness of the guy’s bottom lip, or the feelings he could still drag from him with the tiniest of nips. The pull back was gentle, mutual in the same way coming together was. Tony rested his forehead against Clay’s for a moment before pulling back. His ring covered thumb reached up to brush down Clay’s pale cheek, the touch soft, almost like Clay was too precious to treat any way else. “I’ll only be a little while. I want to check the serpentine belt. Its been making some funny noises the last couple of days.” And with that, Tony let him go, striding through the kitchen and out the side door into the garage. 

Clay forced himself to wait a couple minutes before heading back into the bedroom. He pulled the box from where he put it when they got home earlier. His hand smoothed over the top of it, the time wear and tear on it making his heart thump the same way it did earlier. Looking up, Clay made sure there weren’t any shadows coming down the hall. Feeling satisfied Tony was in the garage lost in his own world of spark plugs, Clay finally opened the top of the box. The note he read earlier still sat on the top, pressed in against the corner where he left it. Clay had to take a second to pull in gulps of air. The anticipation of what the other might have written him made his lungs feel heavy, heavy and ready to burst. Greedy fingers picked up the next folded square, this one’s ink looking just a little darker than all the rest. Opening it eagerly, Clay let out another breath of surprise. His eyes took in the date at the corner, his entire being shocked to see this day’s date sitting there. Clay couldn’t stop his hands from trembling for a moment before he got his shit together. Reading was the only way to find out what Tony had to say.

\---

Hey you,

I knew the second I walked in the bedroom this afternoon that you’d found the box. Your face speaks so loudly what you try really hard to hide. I hate to tell you, but you walked yourself into a well thought out trap. Do you think I would ever leave that box around if I didn’t want you to see it? Hell, that box hasn’t left its spot on the shelf since we moved in.

You’re out in the living room right now, probably eager as hell to get back here and read whatever else I might’ve written back to you. Which, by the way, I’m really glad you seem excited about. I never gave you any of those letters because I suck, especially when it comes to telling the man I love more than anything else just how much I actually love him.

That’s totally beside the point of this note, though. You’ve got plenty of time to see what the younger me had to say about where we were in our relationship. You’ve got plenty of time to see just how much your notes effected me, even steered parts of our relationship. I’ll forever be grateful for each of those letters, Clay. Let’s just—let’s focus on this one for a second.

We’ve been together for ten fucking years! Can you believe that? Think about how long we’ve known each other, though. Probably another ten years tacked onto that. We’ve known each other for more than half of our lives. I can’t tell you when I knew you’d be the person I ended up with. I could probably ball park it and say when we first met in kindergarten, but it wouldn’t be as accurate as I know you’d like. What I can tell you, though, is that all of the parts of my life that I’ve gotten to spend with you have been the absolute best.

What I’m really trying to say is that I want to keep spending my life with you. I want to explore all the possible parts of getting old, of having kids, of buying furniture to fill up our new home. I want to watch old age creep up on you, changing your face and perspective. I’ve been dying to see how you’d look with grey hair. When I picture my life and all the great things I want to have in it, you’re by my side, every single fucking time.

So.

Put down the letter.

Turn around.

Let’s officially start our forever together.

Yours,

Me.

\---

Clay quickly looked up, dropping the paper from his hands when he saw Tony there, leaning against the wall. Without saying anything, his boyfriend walked a couple paces until he was standing in front of him. A second, a breath, a heartbeat later, Tony dropped to one knee, a black box in the palm of his hand.

Both of his own hands came up to frame Clay’s face, his mouth open, sea blue eyes misting with tears.

“Clay,” Tony started, leaning back a bit so that their eyes were locked. Clay jumped into the chocolate depths, letting himself get lost in every sensation this situation was bringing. “You’re my best friend. You’re the person who I long to see after a hard day’s work, and I crave waking up next to after a good night’s sleep. You get me; the grungy guy who can’t ever get the grease from his fingernails, who can’t find a good way to talk about his feelings without muttering through them. We’ve created this stupidly awesome life together and I’m ready to make it official. I never thought marriage was for me, but then you and our life—well, it all changed my mind. So, I’m wondering, hoping, praying. Let me make you happy, or live to try. Will you marry me?” Tony finished his obviously practiced speech, brown eyes open and vulnerable, excited and so obviously ready to fall into this next step.

“Get the fuck up here and kiss me. Yes, Tony. Hell yes, I’ll marry you,” Clay replied, moving from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for Tony to rise to his feet. Tony moved fast, faster than Clay could remember the guy moving... ever. Long arms shot out and wrapped themselves around the shorter guy’s neck, sealing their lips together in a tight kiss. Tony pulled back for a moment, taking the simple white gold band from the box. “I thought this one was perfect for us,” Tony whispered, flipping the band over so Clay could see on the inside.

Sitting there was the one word that started it all. 

Always.


End file.
